


Some nights

by PearlsValeMel



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Adjusting, Character Development, Drabble Collection, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Late Night Conversations, Off-screen Relationship(s), Three years, a little smut for the hell of it, bra's birth, sexy dream, tender moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-10-22 14:18:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10698768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PearlsValeMel/pseuds/PearlsValeMel
Summary: "You wouldn't believe the most amazing things that can come from some terrible nights"Several nightmares and one wet dream, through the life on earth of the prince of Sayans





	1. Stay (If you dare, come a little closer)

**Author's Note:**

> I dit it. No turning point. This is my first attempt at Vegebul, but after reading so many astounding masterpieces as LadyVegeets stories and Stupidoomdoodles wonderful AUs, it couldn't be helped. The idea behind this serie of drabbles is that best realizations come at night, possibly after a bad (or extremely good) dream. Expecially for a Tight-sealed-and-scarred-bone-deep Heavvy-traumatized-but-i-don't-need-anyone type of guy like Vegeta.  
> Be aware that english is not my mothertongue so if there are any grammatical horrors please forgive me and let me know, I am willing and eager to improve. Oh, and next chapters will be longer, I promise. ;)  
> One last thing: the work title and the summary is a quote from Fun song 'Some nights'. Every chapter will be named after a song (this one is Rihanna's) I put in my Vegebul playlist (yes, I have one on my iPod and I'm not ashamed of it).  
> Thank you and enjoy the rest!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Leave”  
> His voice is coarse as his manners but he doesn't need her comfort, nor her pity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dit it. No turning point. This is my first attempt at Vegebul, but after reading so many astounding masterpieces as LadyVegeets stories and Stupidoomdoodles wonderful AUs, it couldn't be helped. The idea behind this serie of drabbles is that best realizations come at night, possibly after a bad (or extremely good) dream. Expecially for a Tight-sealed-and-scarred-bone-deep Heavvy-traumatized-but-i-don't-need-anyone type of guy like Vegeta.  
> Be aware that english is not my mothertongue so if there are any grammatical horrors please forgive me and let me know, I am willing and eager to improve. Oh, and next chapters will be longer, I promise. ;)  
> One last thing: the work title and the summary is a quote from Fun song 'Some nights'. Every chapter will be named after a song (this one is Rihanna's) I put in my Vegebul playlist (yes, I have one on my iPod and I'm not ashamed of it).  
> Thank you and enjoy the rest!

_I threw my hands in the air, said, "Show me something"_  
_He said, "If you dare, come a little closer"_

 

His breaths are still ragged and he can feel drops of sweat rolling between his shoulder blades, tracing the creeks and valleys of the scars on his back. They burn like the dream still unfurling behind his eyelids, Frieza and the lashing, the cries of a boy no older than ten. It's not the first nightmare after Namek, after his death and resurrection and he's fairly sure it won't be the last.

“Here.”

Vegeta tries to focus his gaze on the glass of water she is putting in his hands. Her touch is cool and soothing, her reflection on the water trembles. He licks his dry lips before swallowing the fresh liquid in one go. She keeps her hands to herself, knowingly, but her gaze is fixed on him, a laser beam that digs deeper and deeper like she is trying to decipher his atoms, to dissemble him, piece after piece, and put him back together, fixed, repaired, a mystery unsolved. He feels so exposed and raw that he snarls at her - he can't help it - and it's her time to flinch. His eyes are darker than night itself, a color so black it suckles the dim lights of the corridor, like a black hole, antimatter.

She sighs and straightens her spine, eyes still sharp but softer: “Tell me if you need anything”

“Leave.”

His voice is coarse as his manners but he doesn't need her comfort, nor her pity. Nor the curious stare she uses on her experiments. Her full mouth is reduced to a thin line, a border he does not dare to cross.

“Fine.”

She leaves but the dawn is still far beyond his reach.

 


	2. No light, no light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She hits his sternum with a fist - it actually hurts – waking him up from his reverie.  
> “Vegeta, what the fuck were you thinking?”
> 
> Some post-gravity room explosion nocturnal rambling. With Bulma being the awesome genius she is

_“You are the silence in between_  
_What I thought and what I said_

 _[…] No light, no light in your bright blue eyes_  
_I never knew daylight could be so violent”_

 

His eyes sting and are not working properly. Everything is blackened and crumpled at the edges, there's gravel in his throat and his body hurts. A lot. He can feel a hole in his chest, Fireza's vice grip around his neck, blood choking him, tears and mud in his eyes, dirt under his nails scraping the ground of a foreign planet. Then the image changes. There are two robots in front of him now, but the situation is the same: him, bloody and beaten, on the ground. He wakes up with a strangled noise in the back of his throat and his mind do some back flips trying to remember, to collect inputs from his surroundings, ready to battle, ready to fight fight _fight_ . Survival instinct kicks in, senses fully alerted, and his nose picks up the sweet and sour smell of medications, the acid of the antiseptic and a mix of machine oil and bruised flowers that lingers above all, like an aura. The woman tending to him. The explosion, the gravity chamber collapsing. Surpassing Kakarott, training, the legend, Kakarott, _Kakarott_.

When every piece finds its place, he proceeds to tame his raging instinct –a buzzing sound in his ears, _killkillfight_ \- before opening his eyes. The room of Capsule Corp is silent in the night, the loud beep of a machine follows the calming rhythm of his heart, and there are tubes and bandages on his arm and chest. He ignores the ache of his entire body and turns. The woman is not asleep on the desk anymore, and the room is dark except for the fluorescent light coming from the bathroom. She suddenly emerges from it, wearing a ragged shirt and a pair of slacks, hair undone and puffy eyes.

“You're awake, _finally_. Three days later, but awake.” she sights, swiftly approaching his bed.

He watches her checking charts and numbers on the machine he's linked to, a deep frown on her face. The smell of old sweat and cigarettes lingers on her and from how near she is he can sense the tension in her spine, charged by stress and lack of sleep. It occurs to him, he shouldn't be this good at reading her.

“Well," she points out, her tone nonchalant but her voice is strained, "if you were trying to give me an heart attack, well job. I hope you're satisfied. And don't you _dare_ to move a finger or I'm tying you to the bed." she adds when he tries to get up.

“I don't need this crap. And I don’t need you.”

His body doesn't respond well and when she sits on the side of the bed he's still trying to raise his head from the pillow.

“This crap," she coos, sarcasm dripping from every word, "and my will to kick your ass is what has kept you alive after your stunt with the gravity room.”

And with that she puts her palm on his forehead, pushing his sweaty head down. The sudden necessity to put some distance – galaxies, actually – between them is surpassed only by the raw need to lean into her touch. The sensation is so strong and foreign that Vegeta goes very, very still. If Bulma notices, she doesn’t show.

“You're still hot... for human standards, that is, but I think the fever is gone." she mumbles, sensing his temperature. "I should thank you for the accelerated lesson in Sayan anatomy and biology. I had some rough moments when you lost like _an actual ton_ of blood and I didn't know which blood type to give you, but I managed to not going crazy with worry and find out in the end. Oh, and for the records, your metabolism burns morphine like it's ice on a frying pan... but you don't mind the pain, do you?”

His skin itches and burns under her sweaty palm. As her fingers tremble, her eyes are suddenly alive, electric with rage.

“Because I hope you're _suffering_ right now, for what you've put me through.” she spits out between gritted teeth.

When she withdraws her hand, something in him roars, under the third rib on the left. She is a mess, disheveled and blazing with fury, tongue swelling with venom and a snarl that could rival his own. She's never been so beautiful and terrifying. Bulma hits his sternum with a fist - it actually hurts – waking him up from his reverie.

“Vegeta, what the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

He grits his teeth, brain still buzzing so survival instinct kicks in once again.

“It's none of your business, woman.”

“Oh, keeping you alive _is_ my business, thank you very much. Especially because, apparently, dying is what you do best nowadays: first Frieza, now this attempted suicide, and in less three years the androids, if what that future-boy said it's true...”

He growls and, even through the pain, manages to grasp her wrist. Her pulse quickens and flutters under his fingers like a caged bird. A part of him, the one that needs to bite and mark and conquer, wants to feel the crushing of her bones, the taste of her blood under his tongue. How dare she, how _dare_ she speak of his defeats like that? What does she know of his constant failure in surpassing Kakarott, of the rage and the frustration than nearly choke him every day, every time his struggles are not enough - _he_ is not enough - to grasp the legend, the power he deserves, his destiny, his rightful place in the universe. She knows _nothing_. Nothing. But, it occurs to him once again, she shouldn’t be able to enrage him like that, to find and push his buttons so well.

She answers his silent rant looking him dead in the eyes with that no-bullshit attitude of hers: “I know you want to confront him. _I know_ . But if you're dead there will be no challenge, no legend, no power. Only another corpse, among many others. And I don't want _any_ of this, Vegeta.”

Her other hand is grasping his, nails digging in his flesh, and he doesn’t know anymore who’s threatening who. She is impossibly close now and he can't stop a shiver burning his spine like a fuse when her voice drops to a menacing whisper: “I don't want to see you die, any of you. And I don't want to be left alone, desperate enough to build a time machine to save someone else's future.”

He stutters, as his brain registers her words. The time machine... it will be her? Her eyes flash dangerously, a fluorescent blue he saw once in the erasing explosions of a star being born.

“Yes, there's only one person in this world capable of building that machine in 20 years, and it's me. So stop this nonsense right now, because if you don't beat that androids I promise you that I _will_ invent that machine, but I will be the one coming back to kill you with my own hands.”

She means each and every word. And he knows she will do just as promised, if given the opportunity. He simply knows.

Vegeta huffs out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and extricates his hand from her vice grip.

“Stupid woman... of course I will destroy the androids.” he mutters, closing his eyes.

He can feel her weight leaving the bed, but she remains, seating once again at her desk.

“Of course you will. You have an awesome genius by your side, after all. The new gravity machine will be better than your wildest dreams, and my new bots will literally _blow_ your mind...”

If he wasn't already sound asleep, he would have rolled his eyes.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand here we are. About the time machine, I re-read the manga and I wrote this fic assuming Bulma discovered she is the one behind the creation of the machine. She recognized the Capsule corp logo on Trunks jacket and I think she could recognize her own creation based on the design. She is an awesome genius after all. I hope I didn't fantasized too much!


	3. Army of one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She presses, digs, attacks so sweetly he might just give in and let her win, let her have whatever she wants"
> 
> For once there is no nightmare in his bed

 

_"Been around the world and the universe too,_

_looking for someone like you [...]_

_But the beautifullest treasures lie in the deepest blue"_

 

She traces the scar on his abdomen with kisses and swirls of her wicked tongue, laps at the torn skin there like she's trying to smooth it back to normal; she presses, digs, attacks so sweetly he might just give in and let her win, let her have whatever she wants. She always looks for cracks and holes in his armor, in search of a way to smash through, open him wide for her to pry, to know, to conquer.

Her hands skim his thighs, fingers kneading his muscles, nails scraping lightly, a hint of teeth at the base of his cock and he's already impossibly hard. When her tongue darts out to lick his swollen head, he lets out a sound oh so foreign and shameful, a breathy moan intertwined to a growl that comes from deep inside him, a place he didn't even know existed.

Her head bobs up and down above him, blue lashes entangled in strands of blue hair, and behind them blue eyes that drown him, draw him deeper and deeper and _deeper_ like his cock in her throat. The white-hot explosion behind his eyelids is so sudden and violent that wakes him up. Vegeta pants in the darkness, while the wet spot between his legs cools uncomfortably in the thin air of the night. Still trying to catch his breath, he pauses, eyes wide open asking silent questions at the ceiling. His brain stutter, still trapped in a fog of sensory overload, Ram phase and confusion. This is new. This is trouble. This is, this is... this is _not_ happening.

He growls under his breath, scatters away the ruined sheets and stumbles to the bathroom. 


	4. Keep yourself warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're not the only dangerous thing here, buddy. Can you handle me?”.
> 
> Rage and loneliness and a challenge is what brought them together.  
> Oh, and alcohol, obviously.

 

_“ Can you see in the dark?_   
_Can you see the look on your face?_   
_The flashing white light's been turned off_   
_You don't know who's in your bed”_

 

He doesn't know when it started, but he began to search the wisp of her ki first thing after waking up from his nightmares - especially the cruelest ones, involving Frieza's sickest schemes and abuses. He is not particularly proud of it, but the new ritual calms him in a way a glass of water or a blind flight in the night simply can't. Usually her presence is near, in her bedroom or in the kitchen, if she's just returned from whatever social gathering she attended. This time instead, her ridiculously low aura is in the lab, but it's strange, a blue and unstable flicker in his mind, like something is off. Vegeta doesn't care, obviously, but he's already awake and sleep is off limits anyway, so he might as well check what's going on.

That's what he repeats himself until he's in front of her lab. The woman is scribbling formulas and numbers. O _n the fucking wall._ The dartboard is already filled with her writing, but she must have run out of space at some point. Empty bottles roll sadly at her feet and the room reeks of alcohol.

“Bad dreams?" she slurs, her back still to him. "I have just the right medicine… help yourself."

There's still a half full bottle of something called vodka on her desk. Vegeta is aware humans enjoy strong liquors and some of them are particularly keen on wasting themselves with alcohol for reasons unknown to him - it's a waste of time and energy, not to think physical consequences. But he's never seen her in such a state.

“What _the fuck_ are you doing?” he manages to ask, after a while.

She turns her head this time, just a little. Enough for him to tell she's been crying not long ago.

Wonderful.

“I'm creating. So shut up and drink with me or leave me alone.”

He should leave. It's not his business. He doesn't care. Plus, he hates alcohol. And she asked to be left alone. He goes through this mental list three times, before sitting on her desk and pouring himself a glass of that vodka thing. Her shoulders slump a bit but her spine remains tense.

The strange liquid is transparent like water but the smell is burning his nose. He takes a tentative sip and nearly gags.

“This drink is an abomination for the senses.” he declares.

She shrugs, still scribbling furiously.

“I couldn't find any more beers. And you're supposed to drink that shot in one go, Mr. Crybaby.”

She demonstrates by emptying the glass she still has in her hand.

Vegeta is tempted to leave and he really should follow his instinct. Instead, he swallows the rest of the horrible concoction in one go – no one calls him a crybaby -, fighting the urge to retch.

“And _what_ exactly are you creating?"

That’s why he hates alcohol. It makes him do _things_ , like questions and small talks. A nightmare, indeed.

She finally pauses in her trance, reading her last line of equations. He can feel her blink two, three times: “I think... I think I just invented an antimatter gun.”

His brows go up involuntarily. Vegeta counts to three before the next question.

“And _why_ would you create something like that?”

She sounds more surprised than him: “I don't know.”

Then she turns. She is a mess, still in the dress she wore to go out, barefoot - her shoes are lost somewhere in the chaos -, hair undone and make up a little smudged, and she has a pen smear on her cheek. He's taking the whole crazy scientist concept more seriously from now on.

She stumbles to her desk, sitting down next to him.

“Sorry, I got a little overwhelmed out there.”

He doesn't speak. He has already said and asked too much this night. But she’s not even started, apparently.

“I think I got very, very angry...”

She pours herself another drink and swallows.

“It's that dick-head Yamucha!" she bursts out suddenly, slamming her hand on the desk. "He just couldn't wait three fucking days after we broke up to launch himself in the arms of some slut. And he did it in my face! Like I'm the bad one just because I had the balls to put an end to a relationship already dead.”

She is sobbing now and Vegeta regrets not having taken his leave when he could. He doesn't care about the weakling and his wrecked love life, but it pleases him in a strange way to know he won't be around anymore. And at the same time, he feels a sudden urge to go find that unworthy shrimp and make him suffer. A lot.

Bulma is still rambling, rage taking over sorrow and he can understand that, it's his territory.

“That was low, even for him. And for what? To make me feel regret? To make me beg him to come back like some whimpering puppy? Over my dead and rotten body, you _douche-bag_!”

Her glass goes flying and shatters on the opposite wall and Vegeta can't refrain a smirk.

“I'm Bulma _fucking_ Briefs! I need no man to show me around like I'm some sort of prize! I'm not the prize, I'm the winner! And that pathetic excuse of a fighter should have known who exactly he was dealing with, before challenging me!”

Vegeta could agree with that one. She just invented an atomic weapon out of rage and alcoholic stupor: maybe it's not a safe decision making her _this_ angry. Bulma wipes angrily her tears and snorts: “That... that _loser_! If he can't handle me and my genius, he can take his stupid face and stick it up his sorry ass with an atomic suppository! Which, by the way, I invented last time he cheated on me.”

And with that last colorful threat she collapses, crumbling down like the air just left her body in a whiff. Vegeta stays silent, watching her while she tries to even her breathing and regain some composure. Her eyes finally focus on him, like she's seeing him, _really_ seeing him for the first time.

“S-Sorry for that. I just... I really shouldn't take this on you. But you’re here, making questions and I assumed... But you don't care, do you?”

Her face is suddenly red, and Vegeta doesn't know why he is still there. She’s right, he really doesn't care. He shouldn't care. He shouldn't try to convince himself he doesn't care.

She tries to smile, all puffy face and teary eyes and trembling lips and that weakling is better hide on another planet because if Vegeta finds him, he's going to beg for a quick death.

“It's just... sometimes it gets lonely, being on the top. You know what I mean?”

He grunts. Oh, he knows. He knows very well. And maybe – just maybe – that's why of all the people on this mud-ball, she is the last one he would blow up. If he _could_ actually kill her, that's it. He's not even sure anymore. It's probably the alcohol’s fault, so he pours himself another glass, grimacing, just to be sure.

She's still watching him with her blue eyes, a strange light in them. It unnerves him.

“What? Isn't the teary story of your ex finished yet?” he barks.

She smiles and this time it reaches her eyes. “You're an obnoxious ass. But you're a surprisingly good listener”. And with that she's reaching once again the bottle. He manages to keep it away from her. Another glass and she'll be building something too dangerous for her own good, maybe even for him.

“Enough of this poison.”

She's whining, gripping his arms and almost climbing on him to retrieve the bottle.

“Aw c'mon! Are you really turning in a big grumpy mommy now? Gimme that-”

“Shut up, vulgar woman!”

“Make me, stupid alien pain in the ass!”

They stare angrily at each other for an actual minute. She's so close he can smell the drinks she had, but also the warmth of her breath on his face, the electric ripples of rage, the salty remains of tears. And something else. When she kisses him, he can taste it in her mouth: loneliness.

His own surges up and meets her halfway.

***

She's ravaging his mouth like he's hiding the last drop of water in the desert. And he's a little too eager to match her thirst. But something is out of place and he knows exactly what it is. Once again the alcohol is making him do _stranger_ things: he stops her, a hand on the small of her back, the other on her face. Keeping her close or pushing her away. Two faces of the same problem.

“You're drunk.”

“I'm not.”

“Yes, you are.” he says, stopping her hand from wandering along the hem of his pants. The smile she gives him is simply too vicious to be true, but it suits her in a way he finds intriguing.

“Worried I would regret it in the morning?”

He shouldn’t care, but he's not always the insensible dick everybody thinks he is. Still, he lets his hand slide from her face to her chest, voice warm and dangerous.

“You should. You said it yourself: always know your enemy before challenging him. And I'm _literally_ the enemy, even if we're on a temporary truce. After the androids, it will be Kakarott's turn to be annihilated, along with your planet. You better never forget that.”

Another wicked smile, that makes him suspect he has underestimated her all along.

“And you better never forget what it's written on that wall. What I'm capable of." she whispers, pupils dilated, black and blue, and that unnerving light flashing in the deep. "You're not the only dangerous thing here, buddy. Can _you_ handle me?”

He doesn't stop her anymore. He doesn't stop himself either. Never in his life has he backed away from a challenge. He's not starting now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything started with MIrai!Trunks and what he said at his first arrival: that his mom and Vegeta started their relationship out of loneliness and curiosity. For me, the challenge played a big part in the process. Bulma is a genius and a vulcano always ready to discover and conquer the secrets of every atom. Vegeta it's like a big science project with a sexy twist, plus her obvious preference for bad men. Vegeta, he is made of challenges and pride and I honestly think he would have never started a relationship with an earthling woman if he didn't consider her somehow at his level (or very very near)


	5. David

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wakes up at the sound of his name, choked and whispered.  
> Then it occurs to him her lips are blue like her hair and his hand is clamped on her throat.

 

_"I want to hunt like David_

_I want to kill me a giant man_

_I want to slay my demons_

_But I’ve got lots of them,_

_I've got lots of them"_

 

 

He wakes up at the sound of his name, choked and whispered. Then it occurs to him her lips are blue like her hair and his hand is clamped on her throat. He lets go and nearly fall off the bed – hers his, he can't remember -, trying to suppress the urge to hide in a dark corner where the boogieman belongs. She's still coughing, eyes watering, but her hands are reaching out for him. Stupid fearless girl. “It's okay. You were dreaming.” she rasps between ragged breaths. “I called you so many times but you wouldn't wake up... It's okay, I'm fine.”

He doesn't know if she's trying to reassure him or herself, but she's failing at both tasks. He's still trembling, staring at his hand like it moved on its own accord, fighting the urge to retch and scream and run away.

“Vegeta....”

This time her voice is steadier but he flinches anyway when her fingers close on his wrist. He's already half off the bed, tense and ready to flee, like a cornered animal. He can't even remember what the nightmare was about, the horror of the outcome – a pathetic slip of his self-control - overwhelming him with disgust and fear.

“Vegeta, look at me.”

He can't.

“Breathe.”

He gulps in the air like a drowning man and she finds his hands again.

“I'm okay. You're okay. Breathe.”

She slowly cups his face, cool fingers caressing his sweaty brow, then slowly, so slowly, she turns his face: “Look at me.”

He gruffly follows her order and focus on her eyes, lips, nose, anything but her throat. And fails miserably. Angry red marks and puffy skin is all he can see, and nearly chokes in his own breathing once again.

“I'm fine. We're fine,” she says, with a tone that defies both logic and basic survival instinct. She should run from him, not searching his hand and especially _not_ pulling him down gently between the covers, between her arms.

“Sleep, it's okay.”

He glances again at her throat. He knows it will be striped in blue and purple the next morning. He will be gone before dawn.

 

 


	6. Fear and loathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time only the lingering memory of touch dots his skin with goosebumps and a strange longing.

 

_“ I live my life in bitterness  
And fill my heart with emptiness_

_And now I see, I see it for the first time_   
_There is no crime in being kind”_

 

“Here.”  
Her touch is cool and soothing as the first time, but she smells of baby powder and exhaustion as she passes him the same glass of water of three years ago. Still waking up from the fog of the nightmare, he nearly admits he missed this, missed her. The baby – his, hers, _their_ baby - is snoring softly in the next room, and he's strangely grateful his strained cries and muffled grunts didn't wake him up. He gulps down the water, she watches him from the corner of his bed. She has bags under her eyes that match his, eyelids heavy and puffy, and his jumbled brain resumes images of them in this same bed, nights passed with her fingers tracing his scars, drawing new paths and magic symbols on his skin, a silent lullaby that could take at bay his nightmares. Not this time. This time only the lingering memory of touch dots his skin with goosebumps and a strange longing. When she whispers, he nearly jumps.  
“It's still him?”  
No, it's not Frieza. It's the androids' fiasco all over again, the humiliation of the Cell game, his own son killed in front of him. It was not a nightmare, it was reality, hard and slapping him in the face once again. Always a failure, one step ahead and two steps backward, always behind Kakarott, even if he's gone for good. It's becoming too much to bear, even for him, too much but not enough to let himself open and vulnerable in front of her. He shrugs silently and lets go of the remaining bits of the nightmare with a shudder, while she pats the cover to get up, ready to return in her own room. And it's like their first night after Namek all over again, back to the start, like time never passed and they were still two magnets trying to keep each other away – and failing at it. He's still an ungrateful guest, she's watching him with the same sharp gaze, reading the possibilities that lay before her like tarots, yet not sure which card to pick. But this time he doesn't snarl at her and she doesn't flinch anymore, even when his hand reaches for her: “Stay.”  
It's not a request, he's not pleading - maybe if he repeats it to himself long enough it will become true. Her mouth is relaxed, slightly open, inviting maybe, but her eyes are dark and sharp. He waits for her to deliberate and for a split-second her gaze on him – judging the risk, weighting his worthiness – is more unbearable than Frieza's ever was. He feels rage and shame, familiar and boiling in his gut – another failure, another step backward - but before he can voice his outrage the mattress dips under her weight and her hips scoot him over.  
“If Trunks wakes up again, you're going.”  
“What?”  
“And keeps your hands where I can see them.”  
He's so baffled that his mouths shuts, and opens, and shuts again, this time for good. But in the end it's her hands – a lingering touch that traces the new scars on his arm - that find him under the covers. He closes his eyes and lets her do her magic.

 


	7. Indestructible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breathe in, breathe out. Her smell is everywhere. She is everywhere.
> 
> He's suddenly ashamed of this display of uncontrolled need.

 

_"And I never was smart with love [...]_

_But I'm gonna love you like_

_I've never been hurt before._

_I'm gonna love you like I'm indestructible"_

 

 

She's all fumbling hands, confused moans and a mess of limbs, knotted together at impossible angles, her knee digging in his rib, his thighs between hers. Vegeta buries his nose in the soft curve of her neck, inhaling and exhaling deeply, in and out, the smell of dry oil, the sour taste of her sweat, faint traces of lavender shampoo, in and out,  _in in in_ . 

He woke up suddenly, as if someone had strung him with high tension, launching himself at her before Bulma could register any movement beside her; his throat closed with fury and fear, fingers searching, kneading, touching, testing the reality of the body near his. So different from the lifeless one in his dream, a splash of blue hair in the crimson stain of the blood. Vegeta shudders and muffles her protest with his mouth, tongue delving between her lips, teeth bared and biting the softness inside.

She tangles her fingers in his hair and pulls, trying to breathe: “Whoa, hey what-?”

But he doesn't stop, his greedy mouth biting and suckling her skin, hot trails leading south, until his nose is buried between her legs, tongue delving, ravaging, conquering  _mine mine mine_ . A throaty moan wakes him up from his haze. 

“Vegeta, what's the matter? I'm not complaining, but...” 

Breathe in, breathe out. Her smell is everywhere. She is everywhere.

He's suddenly ashamed of this display of uncontrolled need.

“Nothing.” he half-grunts half-murmurs at the skin over her sternum, but he can feel her eyes baring him, figuratively and literally. He averts his gaze, trying to finish what he started and swiftly dips his fingers between her legs, lips latching on a pert nipple. 

“You're trying to distract me.” she breathes out, eyes closed. The tone is playful but when her eyes opens – he's already inside her then, a desperate thrust at the end of every agonizing pull – her pupils are dark, knowing. 

“Do you feel me?” she whispers in his ear, stroking the circular scar where his tail used to be. 

“Do you like to fuck me hard and fast like that? Or maybe to take it slow and make me beg for more...” 

He muffles a pleading moan in her hair, thrusting violently as a reprimand, but she laughs, coarse and breathy in his ear.

“Do bad things to me, my prince. I'm yours all night, I'm yours...”

_ Forever. _

He huffs a laugh, and dares to look up, still moving above her, inside her, all over her.

“Vulgar woman...”

She is grinning like the evil creature nobody suspects she is: “Yes, and you love it.”

He dives again for a soul-licking kiss and feels her shudder through her pleasure. The nightmare is long forgotten as his orgasm blows off every neural cell capable of thinking, let alone dreaming.

 

 


	8. Long and lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no shame in this life, no trace of pity in her forgiveness.

 

 

_“_ It's been so long between the words we spoke   
Will you be there up on the shore, I hope   
You wonder why it is that I came home   
I figured out where I belong”

 

He once thought that Frieza would hunt his dreams forever, that only his memory would have put his own sanity at stake. He was so wrong, like so many other times in his ruthless life. But this, he hasn't seen it coming. He should have, considering the living nightmare he willingly transformed into, putting his mind in the filthy hands of Babidi. But he had hoped to find peace –  _finally, finally_ – in his death, some solace in his sacrifice and his return among the living. Oh, he was so wrong... He's  _always_ wrong, doesn't he? That's the true, living nightmare. 

He's trembling, not in fear, but some mix of rage, shame and disgust toward what he could have become. He could see it clearly in his dream: he, the prince of all Sayans, reduced to a puppet, a mindless goon, some brute force without a purpose, without a cause. It was life under Frieza once again, but this time he tied the noose around his neck on his own. How pathetic, how unworthy, how... how...

He sits up covering his face in shame, but his hand comes back wet. The same hand that nearly killed his own family at that stadium.

Vegeta is crying for the third time in his life. Not for the destruction of his planet, nor out of defeat. He's crying for what could have been, for the disaster he could have drawn upon himself and his family. It's truly a miracle that things sorted out this way. The realization is overwhelming.

He turns, wiping his eyes, to check on his wife. Then it occurs to him that Bulma is crying too, hiccupping in her sleep.

“Bulma...”

Her name comes out strangled and wary. He shakes her awake, worried. The moment she opens her glassy eyes, her hands drift to his forehead, searching for something that isn't there anymore.

“Bulma.”

Her name is grounding and he understands now, all these nights between them, her voice calm and solid, an anchor for him to cling. It's his turn now to be that milestone.

“Bulma, wake up.” he repeats, managing a steadier voice. 

Her panicked gaze finally focuses on his face, and she exhale, trembling.

“Y-You.. and Babidi. You were that... I thought-” 

Her bottom lip quivers and something in his chest flutters and cries out, like a dying animal. He succeeded in his lifelong mission: to become her personal nightmare. His defenses crumble like a sand castle and only then she notices his stained cheeks.

“Oh my God, Vegeta... You are-” 

He hugs her, his brow on hers, faces mingled together, a vice grip on her sobbing frame, and when he can't tell anymore which tears are whom he breaks the silence.

He doesn't recognize his own voice in the pleading whisper he pulls off his chest.

“How could you forgive me this time? This... This is madness, no one is this selfless. Tell me...”

He stumbles on his own words, truly shocked: “If there's something you want in the whole universe, it's yours. Name it and I will give it to you, no matter the cost. Immortality? The Kolds empire? All the knowledge in the galaxy? Please tell me, my Bulma, my quee-”

She kisses him so hard that their teeth clatter, and he feels his ears ring furiously.

“Stupid, dumb sayan!” 

She's still sobbing, but her eyes are clear of sorrow.

“I don't give a fuck about the universe. It's you, _stupid brainless space-monkey asshole,_ it's always been you!”

He nearly chokes in the sudden wave of relief that burst through him. Never in his life had he been this nervous... Not even in his death, as he awaited the sentence of eternal damnation from Enma.

_Dumb woman_ , he thinks. How could she not see everything he is, everything he could ever have or offer is already hers?

He kisses her puffy and wet face again and again and again, pride and all be damned. There's no shame in this life, no trace of pity in her forgiveness. He's tied to this little havoc of a human not in debt or servitude. This is a chain he can't and won’t ever break free of. Trapped by her tiny and frail arms, he is finally free.

 

 


	9. The weight of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waiting for his princess

 

 

_“_ My heart is thumping, I can feel it in my fingers   
No fear, no anger, we are law unto ourselves   
[…]  It’s the weight of love in your arms”

 

 

The second heartbeat on her belly keeps him awake at night. He listens to it in awe, terrified and excited, a hand softly draped on Bulma's lower abdomen.

He has no time to dream, when reality is so overwhelmingly new and promising.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is my shortest chapter ever! xD I will make it up to you with the next (and last) one, I promise. Thank you for all your kudos and comments; you're amazing, all of you, and you gave me the support I needed to continue this brief adventure. I'm already writing something new and hopefully it will see the light shortly. For now, thank you and enjoy the epilogue :)


	10. King and Lionheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He swallows and picks up the soft bundle, cradling her head like the tutorials he did not see, shifting her weight in his arms as suggested by those parenting books he didn't read.
> 
> A Bra moment closes and era and opens a whole new story

 

_"Howling ghosts – they reappear in mountains_

_that are stacked with fear._

_But you're a king and I'm a lionheart"_

 

 

There's no toss and turns, no vivid sense of pain, no cries of terror this time. When he wakes up only a fierce sense of uneasiness squeezes his chest. Something is wrong but he can't put his finger on it. Bulma is snoring softly beside him, like everything is fine with the world. He tunes in the ki waves from the house: the kids are alright, Trunks is sleeping peacefully in his room. Something stirs in Bra's crib and he senses the baby is waking up. He silently leaves the room, already knowing what to do.

The fluorescent light of the fridge cuts a blade of light in the darkness of the kitchen. While he looks for the baby bottle, already full of Bulma's milk, he recalls some flashes of his dream. His father was there, seated on a throne, the same one he saw in the main room of his castle, so big and imposing. He was only a kid the last time he saw his home or his father, every memory must have been enlarged by his smaller prospective, but he can't help to find the image of king Vegeta intimidating.

He warms the milk in the microwave, movements automatic and unconscious. The kids, they were there too. In front of the king, Trunks was holding his sister in the center of the room. Vegeta stops in his tracks in realization: he was officially presenting his kids to his father, like all nobles and head of tribes were used to do on Vegeta-sei. How could he forget? The first test of a young sayan: gaining the approval of his king. He faintly remembers the day his little brother was presented too. In front of him his father bore the same expression he addressed to his kids in his dream: faint disgust, regret, disappointment.

Vegeta grits his teeth, staring down his own shadows on the threshold of Bra's door. How could his own father dismiss them so easily, like he did with Tarble when he was a baby? They are worthy: a brat ascended before his tenth birthday, his brain already challenging his mother's; a beautiful princess with hair the color of a neutron star and great potential in her tiny hands. The same hands that are gripping his finger from the crib.

Vegeta wakes up from his reverie and looks at his daughter. Blue eyes stares back, with the same intensity, but her round face beams with a smile so sudden and warm Vegeta feels the urge to look away and cower in the shadows where he belongs. He swallows and picks up the soft bundle, cradling her head like the tutorials he  _did not_ see, shifting her weight in his arms as suggested by those parenting books he _didn't_ read. Bra is cooing happily, still squeezing his index. Her fingers are so small and delicate, so unlike his calloused knuckles, he loses himself in awe for several minutes. A soft growl – more of a squeak actually, but he pretends he didn't notice – reminds him of her hunger and Vegeta dutifully gives her daughter the warm milk. Watching her greedily swallow her midnight snack – or very early breakfast, whatever – he feels the strange urge to smile. He doesn't know the reason behind his father's dismissal in the dream. Maybe it was a garbled version of his own memory of Tarble's early departure from home, distorted by his silent fear of being a terrible father  _again_ . 

But that era is closing; his father, his home and his past life are just that: history.

All he knows, all he realizes watching her little princess dozing off on his shoulder while he's patting gently her back, is that she's perfect. They all are, his family.

They are perfect, they are worthy, for they are his legacy. Creatures born from the last remains of royalty and a mind that has no match in the entire universe. A strong warrior and a fine but smart princess. In another world, another time line – another story he sometimes tells himself – they would have conquered the galaxy. Together.

As to punctuate the thought, Bra burps softly on his neck. So much for the fine princess.

Bulma finds them like that in the morning: him sprawled on the recliner, the baby draped on his chest, drooling on his shirt, her little fingers still clutching his bigger ones. She doesn't know if she wants to weep of laugh – probably both and in this order. Instead, she silently takes her camera out and writes a new page of history.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. I hope you enjoyed the fic and this last chapter (Bra's arrival is the best thing of DB super). Thank you again for your support and... see you soon (I hope) with more Vegebul! :)


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